


breathe you in

by forpony



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, PWP, Shotgunning, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 20:56:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1137308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forpony/pseuds/forpony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Stiles and Derek become weed buddies.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	breathe you in

**Author's Note:**

> i can't write porn but that doesn't stop me from trying.  
> rushed a bit, to get it posted for the full moon challenge.  
> season 3a canon!au. ignores dennifer and a lot of other things.  
> this is for fun, guys, huehue.  
>  _no_ beta.

Stiles is doing absolutely nothing when he receives the text. Or well, he’s doing homework but in the grand scheme of things, homework really does equate to  _nothing_  when there are Alpha werewolves out there and people getting killed left and right.

The text seems urgent, only two words ‘ _come here_ ’, from a number he doesn’t see often. Immediately he thinks of Scott, Lydia, Melissa, his dad – he thinks of danger and death and he pretty much throws his chemistry textbook to his left as he jumps off the bed, pocketing his phone, wallet and keys before leaving his house.

On the way over to the loft, he texts Scott and Lydia, both of them replying quickly to his ‘ _u okay??_ ’ with ‘ _ye, y?_ ’ and ‘ _Is this going to be a daily thing, because I’ll block your nr if you keep bothering me for no reason_ ’ respectively, easing his mind somewhat.

He also calls his dad, has to deal with the awkward explanation that nothing’s wrong and he just wanted to check up on him,  _stop with the cop-voice, dad, I’m not a suspect in a murder case_.

So when he pulls up in front of the building Derek lives in, he’s nonplussed.

Why the hell is he here?

To be on the safe side, he goes in anyway, despite fearing that it was Peter who sent that text and he’ll be either the first victim or his leverage for whatever fucked up plan he has now. Because no, Stiles doesn’t buy the ‘ _I’m back and I’m all about family now_ ’ shtick; the believability of that act was destroyed when Peter killed Laura for power.

He slides open the heavy door and his trepidation melts away into shock as he takes in the figure standing a few feet from him, obviously having expected and probably heard Stiles. He clears his throat, stepping in and turning to slide the door back. He pauses to take a deep breath, screaming inside his head.

“You coming?” Derek asks, before Stiles hears him moving further away.

He’s not mentally or emotionally equipped to handle a barefoot, shirtless, loose jean-clad Derek, who’s holding a  _half-empty bottle of Russian vodka, what the hell!?_

Stiles clears his throat and turns and swallows a  _‘_ _What_!?’ because now Derek is lounging on his bed, lighting up what looks like a joint. Stiles moves closer to be sure and when Derek starts breathing out smoke and the smell hits him, he muffles a very confused moan because that is most definitely cannabis he’s smelling.

“What the hell kind of alternate universe did I just step into?”

Derek laughs. Derek  _laughs_.

Stiles is very close to having a heart attack. 

“Do you want some or not?” Still on his back, he holds up both hands high in the air, arms wavering drunkenly as he offers up the bottle and the joint.

“Of course I do, I’m way too sober for whatever is happening here,” he admits and accepts the bottle first. Derek’s smiling at him as he takes a sip. Stiles grimaces but enjoys the burn and drinks some more before he stops because he can feel it starting to come back up. He hands the bottle back, tries to ignore Derek’s  _dirty half-lidded gaze, he’s in the twilight zone, he’s hallucinating, he’s dead_ , and swallows convulsively, accepting the joint next.

He breathes in too deep, having expected the usual mellow sting, not the hard-core burn that makes him feel like he’s combusting in his throat. He coughs and hacks, tears spilling from his eyes.

“Holy shit, what is that,” he cries out, or well –  _wheezes_.

“There are some herbs mixed in, so I can actually get high,” Derek informs him, sitting up and therefore coming intimately close to Stiles’ crotch and navel. His eyes seem stuck there as he takes the joint back and takes a really long drag.

“Seriously though, what the hell is going on? And I don’t see any herbs in that bottle but you are most definitely drunk. And where are the others?” he asks as he takes a few steps back because Derek’s face in close proximity to his dick is just a situation he doesn’t want to be in unless it actually involves a blowjob.  _Ha_ , as if.

Derek blinks up at him sluggishly, “Cora’s out, Peter’s out, Isaac’s out, Boyd’s out, it’s powder and I just felt like getting high. Any more questions or will you shut up and  _join. in_.”

That felt more like an order than a question so Stiles dutifully albeit awkwardly sits on the spot Derek gestured at, right next to  _Derek_  on  _Derek’s bed_. His brain has shut off completely at this point.

 Derek hands him the bottle with a harsh drunken movement, making Stiles jump. When he accepts it, Derek moves back on the bed until his back meets the wall. He gestures for Stiles to do the same.

When they’re both settled in, shoulder-to-shoulder and Derek’s knee resting very distractingly on Stiles’ thigh, Stiles dares to speak up again.

“So is it some kind of wolfsbane? Should I be afraid of poisoning?”

“Nope.”

“There are  _other_  herbs that can affect werewolves? Dude, what is in this?” He asks, taking another sip of vodka, trying to get a sense of taste from it. But the harsh sting of alcohol hides anything he could recognise.

“Not telling,” Derek says, grinning. He’s finishing up the joint and Stiles is disappointed. It was strong and he can feel the effects already but he’s not properly high yet and was actually looking forward to getting there. Derek surprises him again by leaning over the bed –  _oh god, back, ass, waist, those jeans are riding a little low there, no sign of underwear, jesus_  – and coming up with another joint and a lighter.

“Oh my god, how many have you got under there?”

Derek huffs out a laugh, “Enough.”

“Can I get another try?”

Derek side-eyes him as he lights the joint up. “Sure, open your mouth,” he says when it’s lit.

Stiles blinks, startled.

“What?”

A raised eyebrow is his only reply.

“No, seriously are you- Are we- You mean shotgunning?”

Derek’s slow, wide smile  _and that dirty half-lidded gaze_  again make Stiles squirm.

“You gotta understand, man, that’s like a kink for me, I think- I mean, I’ve never done it before but the  _idea_  of it is a kink for me and I won’t be responsible for any boners that may make an appearance during this, got it?”

Derek licks his lips, eyebrow quirked and finally nods. So Stiles opens his mouth and watches intently as Derek breathes in deep before leaning in. Their lips brush together, his dry and cracked and Derek’s wet and soft. He does his best to breathe in everything that Derek’s breathing out and when it’s done he closes his mouth to hum at the pleasant feeling spreading in him. Derek is still right  _there_ though and he leans in further, lips fully pressing against Stiles’. His eyes widen and he freezes in shock. The kiss,  _more of a slow peck_ , goes nowhere though. Derek leans back and licks his lips again, eyes dark and  _completely blown, holy shit-_

“Man, was this some kind of a booty call because-“He can’t continue because Derek’s open mouth is on his again, breathing out sweet smoky bliss and he accepts it all greedily. After the smoke is gone, neither of them closes their mouths immediately and Stiles gasps when Derek’s tongue touches his lower lip, a slow lick before Derek draws back again.

Stiles is breathing like he’s just run a race, staring at Derek in open-mouthed surprise. The weed is doing its work on him, though, and he slowly starts to lose all the reasons why this is a bad idea as well as memories of  _actual_  Derek which do not correlate with the person in front of him, meaning Derek’s probably just drunk, high and horny and Stiles is the only one stupid enough to actually say ‘ _yes, please, anything_ ’ rather than ‘ _you’re not a nice person, so no thanks_ ’.

Derek leans his head back against the wall, neck a long inviting stretch of muscle, veins, skin and stubble-

Stiles takes another swig from the bottle before leaning over to place it on the floor. When he comes back up, Derek’s eyes are closed and he’s breathing out a strong billow of smoke, the joint half-gone. He waits ‘til Derek’s lungs seem empty before he lunges in for another kiss. It’s awkward and all mushed up, almost painful for his nose but then it isn’t as Derek makes a muffled noise before placing a warm, steady hand on Stiles’ jaw, tilting his head and sliding their mouths together in a perfect angle.

It’s warm and soft and then it’s wet as Derek slowly licks his way into Stiles’ mouth.

His hands are grabbing at the other’s shoulders, neck, hair. He kisses with a fervor that comes out of nowhere but doesn’t feel embarrassed because Derek’s responding in kind, hands moving over his sides, forming fists in his shirt to pull him in closer. He never thought a mouth could feel so good against his, that a tongue could make him want to crawl out of his  _skin_ , he’s so turned on.

It only lasts a few moments before Derek pulls away, breathing harsh and uneven. Stiles whimpers, unashamed, trying to dive back in but Derek pushes him and follows until Stiles is resting his back against the wall again with a lapful of muscle and stubble.

“We finish this before we go on,” Derek holds up the tiny piece of joint left, making Stiles frown because who cares about weed right now? But Derek’s already breathing in and when he finishes he just throws the rest away.

“Dude, that’s a fire-hazard,” he manages to say before Derek shushes him with his mouth again. He rather likes getting shut up like this, Derek should definitely continue shutting him up like this.

This time it gets dirty fast, Derek’s tongue sliding firmly into his mouth along with the smoke. He coughs a little, not that great at multitasking but quickly loses any discomfort because there are big hands sliding up his shirt, a hot mouth moving against his and a very nice ass grinding against his rock-hard erection.

His drugged brain is pretty convinced he’s in heaven right now.

The hot-wet make-out turns into soft yet firm pressings of lips as Derek speaks in-between kisses.

“If you want to stop, just say so and I’ll stop.”

“Are you kidding me?” Stiles probably sounds way more outraged than appropriate for the situation. “Stopping is bad, stopping is so bad,” he moans pitifully against Derek’s mouth, sitting up to remove his plaid button-up before Derek leans back to drag his T-shirt off as well.

Naked chests and naked arms and hair and muscle and Stiles feels like he’s suffering from a sensory overload because how can everything feel just so damn good. It’s such a heady feeling, having someone’s hands on him, grabbing and squeezing as if they can’t get enough and it’s Derek,  _Derek, Derek-_

He whines, terribly high-pitched, when Derek stops kissing him but then sighs,  _moans_ , when the other’s mouth starts travelling on his skin, pressing hot wet kisses onto his neck, tongue sliding over his collarbone, lips brushing against his nipple -  _holy shit,_  he thinks and arches up, his erection straining against the confinement of his jeans - before reaching his stomach. Derek moves backwards, a little clumsily, to be perfectly aligned face-crotch wise.

Just a few minutes earlier, Stiles laughed at the possibility of getting a blowjob from Derek Hale.

He thinks he might really die tonight, if not from a heart attack then from the fact that all of his blood has seemingly flown into his dick, leaving nothing left for his brain. He feels lightheaded, a bit dizzy, a lot giggly but  _so good_  and  _so fucking horny he might die if he doesn’t get a hand on himself soon_.

Derek grabs his thighs and pulls him down until he’s splayed out on Derek’s bed, under Derek, as if an offering  _to_  Derek, Jesus H. Christ, he’s doing this with  _Derek_. Yeah, Stiles is never getting over that fact.

The display of strength is also not exactly helping Stiles in the head-rush department.

“Fuck, just help me get my pants off already,” he whines, patting at Derek’s head. He laughs softly, turning to nip at Stiles’ wrist before unbuttoning Stiles’ jeans and pulling down the zipper,  _finally_.

Stiles groans loudly when the jeans are pulled down along with his underwear. He then realizes it’s actually chilly in the loft but the cold air feels so good against his hot skin, he decides he doesn’t mind one bit. If the need should arise he’ll just convince Derek to let Stiles use him as a human-blanket. He’s had experience with Scott, he knows they run hot and  _not_  just in the attractive sense.

Derek moves back up, on his knees in between Stiles’ spread legs and he knows that if he was stone-cold sober, he’d probably be self-conscious as hell, but he feels so good and mellow and  _sexy_  right now. Not to mention, from the way Derek’s staring at all the nakedness displayed out before him, he agrees. So they’re on the same page. Stiles is sexy. Wonderful. Now someone should do something about his dick, because pre-come has been flooding out for a while now – his underwear is probably going to be very icky afterwards, better to go commando, just like Derek, learn from the best and all that.

His thoughts are all over the place but they quickly zone in on the present when Derek leans down to mouth at his inner thighs, because  _holy hell, that’s hot_.

“Ngnah!” He shouts, thinking belatedly that he planned to shout actual words not whatever the hell just came out of his mouth but fuck, who cares, Derek’s stubble is rubbing against his thighs, and then his hipbone and then holy shit- against his dick; Stiles twitches upwards reflexively, throwing his arm over his mouth and hiding the sight below from view because he’s about two seconds away from coming just because Derek  _breathed_  on him.

“You okay?” Derek’s voice is so low and rough that for a second Stiles misinterprets it as his alpha voice- but no, just Derek. Incredibly turned on Derek. If Stiles wasn’t currently going out of his mind, he’d feel flattered.

“So okay I think I’m gonna burst a blood vessel somewhere, somehow. Jesus Christ. This is gonna be so short though, soo _oooo_  short because I almost just came already from your stubble-  _holy fucking shit-_ “ he cries out because his dick. Is in Derek’s mouth.

The dirty twirly thing he experienced first in his mouth is now being done to the very sensitive tip. The suction he felt on his tongue, he now feels all along his dick because Derek’s head is moving. And he’s going all the way down, to breathe in, to  _choke_  before coming all the way back up again to do things with his tongue Stiles can’t describe with any other words besides  _amazing_  and  _wet_.

It isn’t a neat or even a rough blowjob like he’s seen in porn; it’s sloppy and slow, Derek’s drunkenness becoming more and more obvious as he slurps, mouths, licks and sometimes just presses his nose into the hair above Stiles’ dick, breathing in his scent. Stiles is brain-dead and very proud at himself for his self-control. In the end, he lasts for about five minutes, until Derek noses down to his balls and sucks them in, tongue doing the twirly thing again-

“Ah god, I’m coming, fuck,” he grunts out before his dick starts twitching, come flying up and onto his stomach in short bursts. Derek quickly wraps his mouth around the tip, teasing more out with his tongue.

“Holy shit!” Stiles shouts, body twitching and hips jerking in sensory overload as Derek sucks him dry. Derek just lets him jerk upwards, to thrust his dick deeper, throat open and loose,  _welcoming_. Stiles moans brokenly. Because he’s broken. He really is.

“You broke me, Hale,” he mutters weakly, both arms flung over his face. He’s gasping, probably flushed so red he could cosplay as Red Skull. Derek staggers upwards and gently sits on Stiles’ stomach, thighs caging him in. Stiles moves his arms up and under his head so he can stare at those thighs. They are nice thighs. Would be a lot nicer without the jeans.

“You should take off your jeans,” he mutters weakly.

Derek grins, “Wanna get into my pants that bad, huh?”

Stiles blinks sluggishly, confused. “ _No_ , I want you out of them,” he whines, head thumping against the mattress as his hands go to Derek’s waist, making swift if a little clumsy work on the button and zipper. He reaches in to grab the hard dick Derek’s been hiding from him and pulls it out carefully, noting the size and thickness and whimpering out loud when he finally sees it. He’s fascinated with the foreskin, already sliding his hand up and down to move it. The head is  _fat_  and purple and glistening with pre-come and Stiles just wants to taste.

He grabs at the other’s thighs, loving the feeling of muscles flexing against his hold.

“Dude, come up here and put that thing in my mouth,” he breathes out, needy.

Derek’s moan is surprisingly high-pitched and Stiles’ gaze flies up, amazed at how wrecked Derek looks. His eyes are focused on Stiles’ mouth, though and he licks his lower lip as an invitation, liking the way Derek breathes in harshly, nostrils flaring and eyes burning red.

“Come on,” he needles softly. “Fuck my mouth,” he knows it’s a stupid thing to say as soon as it’s out because he’s never given a blowjob before, Christ, before this very night he hadn’t even  _held_  another guy’s dick before. His gag reflex is very much there, and it’s _strong_. Getting his mouth fucked is something he wouldn’t enjoy, no matter how hot it sounds.

Derek seems to get it though, chuckling and staring at him as if Stiles is the most amusing thing in the world. One of his hands bats Stiles’ hand away and leads it upwards, gesturing for Stiles to put his other hand up as well. He crosses them and holds them together at the wrists while his other hand palms Stiles’ jaw, thumb sliding up to press at his lower lip, forcing his mouth to open wider. Stiles feels a sudden thrill at being restrained and forced to just take whatever Derek plans to give him. Strangely, he still trusts Derek. Even in his inebriated state.

He flicks his tongue against Derek’s thumb, enjoys the guttural moan it causes. Derek shuffles towards his face, dick hanging low and heavy, the purple tip taking all of Stiles’ attention again. He draws his hand away from Stiles’ face to pull back his foreskin and hold his head on level with Stiles’ open mouth. His breaths hit the tip and he watches, fascinated, as more pre-come trickles out of the slit.

“Fuck,” Derek mutters, voice raw from having Stiles’ dick in  _his throat_ earlier.

He presses down on Stiles’ wrists, almost painfully so, but it makes Stiles moan readily. Finally the head touches his lips and he quickly latches on, a pitiful whimper escaping him as he gets his first taste. He tries to get more than the head in but Derek doesn’t move, keeps holding him down, keeps staring with an expression of  _blown-away-beyond-belief_  so Stiles moves as much as his awkward position allows, neck growing sore very quickly.

He tries to re-enact the twirly thing, entirely sure he doesn’t get it right but it still makes Derek let out a noise that sounds like it was punched out of him, so he continues doing it. His lips are frantically moving over the head, occasionally getting caught behind the tip so he has to turn down the suction. It only takes less than a minute before Derek’s hand is around the base, not to hold himself back but to stroke, to  _come_.

“Can I- Stiles, can I?”

Even if he wasn’t so hungry for it, he would have said yes because Derek’s voice, Derek’s _face_. God, he feels like an amazing, sexy, experienced person aka the exact opposite of how he usually feels and it’s overwhelming as hell. So he nods, moaning around his mouthful, making Derek’s hips twitch.

Come spurts into his mouth suddenly, hitting his throat and making him seize up, choking. He clamps his mouth tight and holds his coughing in, eyes blurring with tears as he swallows convulsively, trying to fight against his gag reflex.

The taste is strong and a bit unpleasant, but the thought of what it is and  _whose_  it is, is enough to officially make it the best thing he’s ever had in his mouth.

Derek whimpers pitifully and Stiles feels invincible as the roles have been switched. Finally, his wrists are released and his mouth is empty, Derek weakly slumping to his side, a leg still thrown over Stiles’ chest.

He giggles lightly, “Can’t believe we just did that, what the hell,” he says and then continues giggling, throwing his arms back over his face.

Derek’s laughter is music to his ears, seriously.

“Wasn’t exactly what I had planned, but it was good, yeah?”

He lifts his arms to stare at Derek incredulously, “What exactly  _did_  you plan?”

“To get you drunk and get you to trust me so you could convince Scott to join my pack,” he frowns, smiling, “or something like that.”

“Dude, I should be so mad at that.” Stiles tries to focus, holding a stern face for a few seconds before guffawing, “Ah I can’t, I’ll be mad later,” he swats at Derek’s leg. “Get off me, even just your one leg is like  _heavy_ , man.”

Derek complies and then snuggles right up against Stiles’ side, making him squeal.

“Wow, you’re a cuddler. Is this your high thing? This and the constant smiling?”

“Shut up.”

“Ah, it’s wearing off already? Knew it wouldn’t last.”

“Stiles,” Derek groans into his neck, making Stiles squirm.

“Dude, I rather preferred your earlier method of shutting me up, you know?”

Derek raises his head, a wicked look on his face, “Which one, my mouth or my dick?”

“Oh, you think you’re  _so_  witty, don’t you?”

“I think I’m witty enough.”

“How about I change the subject?”

Derek raises an eyebrow, bringing an arm up so he can lean on his elbow, his other hand busy brushing against the mess on Stiles’ stomach.

“Go ahead.”

“I thought you didn’t like me,” he manages to not make it sound as pitiful as it could have, instead going with confusion and shock.

“Ah,” Derek says.

Stiles’ eyes go wide, “ _That’s not a reply._ ”

“I like you just fine,” he shrugs.

“Just fine. Be still my heart,” Stiles mutters.

“Am I supposed to woo you now?”

“ _No_. Just, would be nice to know I’m not here because I’m the only one who knows what you are and is still willing.”

Derek frowns, looking absolutely befuddled, “That’s not why you’re here.”

“Then why?” He prods.

“You’re cute,” Derek grins, wide and gorgeous and  _evil_.

“I have this strange urge to knee you in the balls.”

“Oh, come on,” Derek laughs, holding Stiles down as he starts to get up, “You  _are_  cute, as well as a mouthy little shit, which is why it took me a while to notice.”

Stiles relaxes, returning the grin, “You  _like_  it when I’m mouthy.”

Derek’s eyes glaze over as he stares at Stiles’ mouth which is probably still a little swollen and puffy. At least it  _feels_  sensitive as hell.

“Yeah, I do,” he breathes out before leaning down to make Stiles’ lips even puffier.

He doesn’t really mind.

* * *

Hours later when the weed and alcohol have pretty much worn off, when they’ve both gotten off three times and the loft has become colder than ever – it’s awkward.

Until Stiles says, “So you’re my personal drug dealer now. Like, weed is something I desperately need more of in my life, especially now that I’m constantly worrying about people dying and werewolves and all kinds of shit that is causing major stress on top of school and senior year getting closer and closer, which means colleges and life decisions and becoming an adult-“

“Fine, Stiles, I’ll give you weed,” Derek says, rolling his eyes. No smiling anymore, Stiles kind of misses it already. “I won’t give it to you for free, though,” he adds, crossing his arms. He’s definitely back to being his usual self. Stiles still kind of digs it. There’s something really wrong with his brain.

“I don’t have any money,” Stiles shrugs and then is hit with an idea, “but if you just share your weed like you did tonight, then there will probably be orgasms in it for you.” He waggles his eyebrows meaningfully.

Derek smiles, it’s a small one but it’s definitely a smile and Stiles does a little mental fistbump.

“I’ll text you, then,” he says as he walks with Stiles to the door, still shirtless, still barefoot – Stiles slides the door open and then just stands there for a moment, taking in the sight of the person he just had sex with. His brain is still muddled, both from weed and vodka as well as multiple orgasms, so he can’t process it properly yet. But he’s  _oddly_  happy.

“You do that,” he nods, eyes lingering over nipples. He absolutely didn’t play with those nipples. He didn’t even lick them, how could he not have licked them. He makes a mental note to lick them thoroughly the next time they do this.

Jesus, the  _next time_. There’s actually gonna be a next time.

Stiles has a fuckbuddy.

And a weedbuddy.

He really  _is_  happy. Alphas and murders be damned.

Or maybe he’s still high. He’ll know for sure tomorrow.

He does an awkward finger-gun, goes to turn away and  _then_ , at the last minute, like a friggin movie hero, Derek swoops in and gathers him up in his big, beefy arms –  _at least he licked those_  – to kiss the shit out of him.

As goodbye kisses go, well… this isn’t really how they go. This is more like a  _hello_  kiss. And Stiles’ dick is definitely getting the message, ready to say hello again, albeit slowly. Fuck.

He pushes Derek backwards and closes the door again before flinging off his shirts, toeing off his sneakers and socks and pulling down his jeans. Derek just watches, eyebrows raised high.

“I ain’t going anywhere ‘til I see what you look like when you come sober,” he rushes to say before rushing  _at Derek_ , yelping when he’s lifted from the floor, Derek’s hands on the backs of his thighs and his arms quickly wrap themselves around Derek’s neck to hold on for dear life.

Derek leans in to catch his mouth into a slow kiss that smolders him from head to toe.

“Alright, when’s your curfew?”

“Oh, I’ve still got hours, buddy. Let’s make them count.” He feels Derek chuckle against his mouth and feels something in him thaw. This’ll probably hurt him in the end, he’s in way over his head. But god damn it, he deserves something that makes him feel this good after everything he’s been through.

Not to mention, he’s a dick, Derek’s a dick – they both  _have_  dicks, it’s perfect. They deserve  _each other_.

* * *

A few days later, Derek happens to be scrolling through Stiles’ contact list in post-orgasm haze for no real reason and he stops when he gets to  _Not A Drug Dealer_  and recognizes his number.

He’s high enough to laugh instead of glare, so Stiles laughs with him until they shut each other up with kisses, Stiles’ new favorite method of shushing someone.


End file.
